To the left was a straight and easy path that culminated in a state of benevolent non-being.In the center ran more a difficult way that promised however much earthly fortune.On the right, strewn with rocks and pitfalls, ran a road of anger, grasping, loathing, and pain, plunging suddenly into a gorge of eternal suffering.

The correct choice was clear to him, yet he preferred to take the side-routes.

​To my rear was a broad and flat stretch of railway bordered by a low metal fence. To my left, parked upon a darkened cobblestone street, sat a police car. From within it I was being watched by something of infinite and massive proportions, That Which Cannot Be Named.

I had bought a piece of meat in a nearby store, which I cooked using a pocket-sized flamethrower. The thick steak bent in upon itself sharply as it reacted to the scorching heat. Every juicy tendon and sinewy muscle fiber, the milky envelope of fascia, was clear to me, as was the essence of the beast slaughtered to produce it. (Soon after awakening, I realized that eating animals raised in conditions of torture and neglect contributes to sad and aggressive thought patterns.)

Other dreams followed in the hours I spent sleeping rather than practicing my usual morning meditations. They have vanished, however, from memory.